


La Rêveuse

by charlotteof_denmark



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Angst, BAMFs, Bisexual Character, Cannibalism, Canon Gay Character, F/F, F/M, Murder, Sexual Content, Sibling Rivalry, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-20
Updated: 2014-06-20
Packaged: 2018-02-05 11:27:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1816918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlotteof_denmark/pseuds/charlotteof_denmark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Margot Verger is a weird person. But she knows it's okay to be weird. It's also okay to have homicidal feelings toward your brother. She wants to take care of Mason just like he took care of her. Margot meets Freddie Lounds, whom she cannot seem to trust at first, but realizes that she is the only one able to help her. </p><p>La Rêveuse-Marin Marais, 1717</p>
            </blockquote>





	La Rêveuse

Margot Verger read the newspaper in her livingroom at around eight thirty. No one ever saw her like this. Dr. Lecter even once asked her if she was OCD. When she went in the outside world, her hair was done, her clothes neatly ironed, her makeup balancing out her look and she often sprayed on some perfume; most of the time it was subtle and gentle, but when she wanted to leave a trace, she wore something stronger like Chanel No. 5. Today she didn’t feel like doing anything. There really was nothing to do. She didn’t have any friends with whom she hung out with like a proper woman of her age and class. If Margot was sociable enough, she would probably go to tea parties or golfing with other women. Her days consisted mostly of reading things she stole from Mason’s library, shopped online, went horseback riding or watched television. She got herself her own house after what happened to Mason. She still went to the farm. Mason was never there. He was stuck in his wheelchair. When going to the farm, she heard the swine going insane at every step she took near them. It haunted her. She found it degrading, and to be honest, there were not many things Margot found degrading. She’d lived through too much.

At this hour, a woman with long brown hair stood in her underwear and pajama shirt, holding a newspaper article. It was very sunny outside and it shone through the glass doors, onto Margot’s thin body. The house was big, and a bit of a pain to clean, but she never got maids or cleaners to do anything. She could not trust anybody. Not after what happened. Only 29, she acted so mean, so rigidly, like a stone. She let no one inside her. Letting Will Graham touch her, see her, scars and all, was the most painful thing she ever had to do. All she wanted was to experiment. Margot didn’t really want to hurt Will. In fact, she liked him. He was scarred, like her. He had (or rather, had had) the same psychiatrist. He had the same passion for whiskey. But as she read the article of this morning’s paper, June 4th 2014, Will Graham had been stabbed in the stomach, gutted, let to bleed out by none other than Hannibal Lecter. Hannibal the Cannibal. Everyone seemed to know that name. It rhymed. How strange.

‘Who’s Abigail Hobbs?’ she wondered out loud in a whisper. She slopped down on the leather IKEA couch in front of the fireless fireplace. She was surrounded in newpaper, empty cups of tea, empty like her heart, drained by everything.

She grimaced looking around her, deciding to do a bit of cleaning before leaving. She picked up every single newspaper article she could find and shoved it in the recycling bin. She cleaned the cups and straightened up the sofas. The more she cleaned, the more she wanted everything to look nice and it got to a point where she wondered if she could really be OCD.

An hour later, the bed was made, the vacuum went through every room, the washing machine was working, but Margot was still in the clothes she fell asleep in last night.

She hated undressing herself.

Her scar was something she needed to come to terms with, but it was there, wide and long, where her barely even there child’s heart had started beating and where it died. She too often touched it, wanting to feel a swell, a bump, maybe even a kick. There would never be a baby there, ever, ever. She also said that to herself often. Hoping is dangerous, Margot. Hoping is not the answer. That particular scar made her even more ashamed of her body than she was before. Long sleeves and buttoned up shirts hid most of her skin. It was half-fear, half-discomfort of being seen completely stripped. Her brother too often stripped her to hurt her. She remembered one time at the age of 24, he wrote the word ‘whore’ on her lower back with a scout knife. It was still written thinly in white until now.

She decided herself on dark blue jeans and a black see-through blouse. She braided her hair on the side and clipped her sidebangs up.

When she was dressed up, entirely covered to the neck, ankles and wrists, she felt like she could finally breath, like a rock came off her chest, like a rope untied from her throat. Revealing herself to Will was one of the hardest things she had to do. She had a few fingers on whiskey, so she wasn’t herself, yet, Will’s eyes on her were heavy and her entire attention went on the fact that she was naked. Exposed. And when she was able to put her clothing back on, she did it as discretely as possible, even if she sensed something uneasy in the room, Will wanted her to stay, to be close, to have skin to skin contact, something he probably never had the luxury to do. It was a sad, sad life. A long one too. Margot hoped it would be good, or at least okay from now on.

As she grabbed her bag and slipped into her shoes on the way out, she thought that maybe it would never be okay.

Baltimore was a nice town. Not too popular. There weren’t many people. None of them particularly friendly, and Margot was glad, because she was one of those people, and she fit right in. Her Starbucks order was very common, a simple mocha coffee. She went back into her car and drove around town. She thought about getting a job somewhere. Working. She would fit into the crowd even more if she had a job. But working meant being with people. People shaking her hand, saying hello, conversing about normal things. They would think that she was weird. Margot was indeed very strange.

_Where is little Margot going?_

Her brother’s voice rung in her head.

_Margooooooot come back hoooooooome..._

She allowed herself to hate him, like Dr. Lecter told her to do.

Not only did she hate him, but she could kill him. She now had dominance over him.

_Mason. Margot wants you to leave her alone._

Margot did not hate Mason. In fact, she despised him utterly and completely. She wanted to crush him, to dig his grave and put him there alive for him to breathe dirt and have maggots crawl into his ear, eating his disgusting brain slowly.

Margot shivered at that thought and smiled a bit.

Who knew she would become so homicidal?

_What Margot wants is to destroy you, Mason, dear... Margot didn’t like what you did to her very much._

Dr. Lecter did not do this to her. If anyone ever assumed that, they were stupid. Hannibal merely opened a door of rage in the crypts of her mind, releasing desire of death and revenge.

_Die, Mason, Die._

Margot was going to pay a visit to a man who almost gave her a child. To a man who survived. To a man who was violently gutted and who almost bled to death. Will Graham would have to explain some things to her.

**Author's Note:**

> YES. I AM WRITING AGAIN. NOT HANNIBLOOM. SORRY.


End file.
